


Five ways Alejandro Didn’t Find Out

by Therrae (Dasha_mte)



Category: Zorro - Fandom
Genre: 5 ways, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dasha_mte/pseuds/Therrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways Alejandro didn't fine out about Zorro--and the way that he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five ways Alejandro Didn’t Find Out

_Not mine, no profit here. But ZPI has released the DVDs, so more power to ‘em._

 **It didn’t happen this way.**

Alejandro had his mouth open to say, “Felipe, would you tell Diego and Victoria that dinner is ready,” when he realized that Felipe wasn’t standing beside the table but crouching under it. When he rose he was holding a fat chipmunk by the tail.

 Alejandro winced. “The cat got in again?” 

Felipe nodded and pointed at Diego’s chair. “A present for Diego. Well, at least she killed it this time. You take care of that, and I’ll go fetch Diego and our guest.”

 When he got outside, however, Alejandro saw no sign of them in the courtyard. He was turning back into the house when he heard a low voice from the other side of the wall. Diego: “I was wondering if, perhaps, you had given any thought to that matter we discussed yesterday.”

 Victoria laughed. “What matter was that? I was very busy yesterday. Was it important?” Alejandro reversed course and headed for the side gate.

 Diego’s voice--and it must be Diego, though it was scarcely recognizable--brought Alejandro up short just as he stepped out into the outer garden “Victoria, please. Please. I know what I have done is unforgivable. But do not play with me.” He had never heard his son beg. He frowned.

 “Oh, now, really, Diego. Unforgivable? I’ll agree with ‘barely comprehensible,’ and certainly ‘upsetting.’ But do you really think I’m shallow enough or stupid enough to call this ‘unforgivable.’ That is melodramatic, even for you.”

 “Melodramatic?”

 “Which, actually...explains quite a bit, now that I think on it.” Her voice was playful. She was teasing, almost...flirting? With Diego?

 “Obviously not shallow or unintelligent, but...perhaps... _unkind_ enough to taunt me cruelly?”

 Another laugh. “I might. And I’m tempted....But every time I look at you...every time I think...Oh, Diego.”

 It was only a thickly blossomed rose arbor separating him from the young people now. He couldn’t see, but he could hear. The rustle of clothing, the sigh of breath, the longing groan. Alejandro had been young himself, once.  At the sound of their soft lovemaking he froze with rage.

 Victoria--it was unthinkable, it was absurd, but it was happening--Victoria was trifling with Diego.  There was no possible purpose, no conceivable reason, and yet Victoria--innocent, honorable Victoria--was seducing his son.

 And Diego didn’t stand a chance. Not Diego, who was polite and charming but rarely paused to look at a pretty face or form. He knew nothing of women at all! He had never courted anyone, didn’t ‘travel to Monterrey’ on business to spend a few days enjoying feminine...companionship. Diego was--had been for years--completely besotted with Victoria, and now she was taking ruthless advantage of it.

 But why? What could she hope to gain? Surely, anything she desired--anything! Diego would freely give her. And everyone knew that Victoria was in love with Zorro. She never looked at another man.  Certainly, any number of men had tried to gain her affections. So why, now, was she seducing poor Diego? How could she betray this decent man who had been her friend for years?

 Alejandro’s rage was washed away by his astonishment. _Everyone knew that Victoria was in love with Zorro. She never looked at another man._ Never. And yet, here she was, in Diego’s arms, kissing him.

  _Please. I know what I have done is unforgivable. But do not play with me._

Zorro. He was Zorro. _My son_. _He is Zorro, and she has just found out._ Dear God. Dear God....he had to get them married! Alejandro clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. His son was in love. With a woman who would have him. And yes, they were mere minutes from committing a carnal sin, right here, now, in the garden. But-- 

 _My son is Zorro_. 

How would he ever get them married? 

Don Alejandro slipped to his knees, laughing silently.

 

 **It didn’t happen this way**. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! The pounding at the door was rough and rude. In the middle of the night, it was terrifying. Worse that it was the front door. Some disaster at the ranch would have brought the vaqueros to the side door. 

The pounding had roused Maria and Miguel, even Felipe--although often in the evening he was up late with Diego. The three servants clustered behind Alejandro like chicks behind a hen. 

It was Sergeant Mendoza at the door, with four lancers behind him. When the door flew open he stared openly at Alejandro, gaping, silent. 

“Well? What is it? Surely you wanted something to make such a noise in the middle of the night!” 

“Don Alejandro....” Mendoza whispered. 

“Yes? Mother of God, Mendoza, what _is_ it?” 

“We have captured Zorro. The alcalde laid a clever trap....” He dropped his eyes. “Not so clever. But. There was a weak spot in the roof....I am sorry. We have him.” 

“Well, I can see why you’re sorry. You have every reason to be ashamed of yourself, Mendoza--the man has saved your life more than once! But why are you telling me in the middle of the night.” 

“Don Alejandro...we _have_ him. We have unmasked him. We saw him fight-- _I_ saw him fight. There is no question that he is Zorro.”

 “What are you--” 

“Please, Don Alejandro. We know it is Diego.” 

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Diego? Diego is Zorro? Diego is--” In bed asleep? With all this commotion? In the library reading? Then why didn’t he come to the door? The laughter died in his throat to be replaced with a vehement curse. Alejandro spun on his heel and stormed away. 

“Don  Alejandro? Where are you going? I have orders--” 

“I am going to change clothes, Sergeant. I cannot go to the pueblo in my nightshirt.” 

 

 **It didn’t happen this way, either.**

 Except for a couple of lost roof tiles, the stables seemed to have come through the tremor unscathed. The house was sporting a small crack above the back door, but that was the only structural damage Alejandro saw.  In the kitchen, Maria bent over a sticky mess of broken glass that must have once been bottles of wine and pots of...jam? No, she wasn’t hurt. 

 He walked slowly from room to room, absently retrieving books from the floor and wincing at the occasional broken ornament. There was surprisingly little damage, really, considering how terrifying and dramatic the quake had seemed at the time. The winter after he’d returned from Madrid, Diago had taken leather chords and strapped all the larger pieces of furniture to the walls. At the time it had seemed absurdly fastidious, but Alejandro had to admit that this was an improvement on righting bookcases and bureaus. Or, God forbid, lifting the furniture off of Maria or Felipe or Anna. Or Diago. If anyone were to be injured in an earthquake, it would be Diago. The boy could turn an ankle walking across a flat meadow-- 

After so many rooms with only minor disorder, finding the crack down the back of the fireplace was a small shock. The cleavage rent the firebox from top to bottom with a gap large enough to insert a finger. Putting down the armful of books he’d gathered, Alejandro crouched on the hearth and reached out-- 

His relief was quickly followed by amusement. The long, strait crack wasn’t structural damage, it was the entrance to the old bolt-hole, an escape tunnel build back in the colony’s early days.  Alejandro hadn’t thought about it in years. 

A gentle push opened the panel the rest of the way, revealing the dim cavity behind, and he ducked through. 

This side didn’t appear damaged, either.  The walls around the opening were clearly old, but not cracked or off center. The catch that normally held the door shut had shifted, but wasn’t broken, and the hinge was silent as Alejandro swung the panel back and forth. 

He straightened up, then, and studied the alcove in the dim light that filtered through the ventilation slits. It seemed both brighter and cleaner then he’d remembered. But then, it had been decades....

 He descended slowly down the stairs, examining the foundation as he went. There were no cracks, but in two or three small places the rock and mortar were slightly different, as though repairs had been made. 

So involved he was in the walls and ceiling that he was standing in the cozy little room before he noticed it. There was an oak desk, with papers neatly piled on one corner; a coat rack, with a hat and clothing hanging; and a couple of chairs. A narrow table crowded with tiny bottles and slim beakers marked the place as Diego’s. The boy had filled half his bedroom with soil samples and the winter kitchen with...actually, Alejandro wasn’t even sure what kind of experiments were currently running in the winter kitchen. But this place was clearly Diego’s. He must have heeded his father’s warning about not filling any more of the house with his hobbies. A creative solution, bringing the overflow down here-- 

A soft stamp and wicker grabbed Alejandro’s attention and drew him further into the dim cavern. Behind a low partition was a tidy horse stall. A Horse stall? Diego wasn’t just keeping his science experiments down here, he had brought a entire horse in, under the house. 

It was, Alejandro noticed, a magnificent horse: a stallion, tall, surely sixteen hands at least, and dark. Not one of the de le Vega stock.  No, he had only seen horseflesh of this quality a handful of times in his life. Right now, in the pueblo, only Toronado-- 

The little glass bottles clinked together as he backed into the narrow table. Alejandro flinched away and steadied himself on a chair. There was no mistaking that horse, those legs, that flank:  Toronado. Diego had hidden Toronado here, below the house. 

He was astonished. Toronado here could only mean that Diego was in league with the Fox. Diego--quiet, bookish, clumsy Diego, who was more concerned with his clothing then politics and more concerned with natural philosophy than his clothing. How could he possibly be working with Zorro? 

Oh, but it made a terrible sense. Zorro knew too much, moved too fast. He was everywhere. He planned for every eventuality. He outmaneuvered the government at every turn. How could one man do so much alone? And so Diego--and how many other young men?--contributed to the illusion. And who would ever suspect Diego, seeming so innocent, so useless...and all the while he was imbedded in this great conspiracy.

Toronado was restless, shifting in his stall. Alajandro couldn’t tear his eyes away. Diego an accomplice of Zorro. Impossible, but it must be true. The only other explanation was that Diego was Zorro himself, and that was absurd. Diego was hopeless with a sword and even worse on a horse. Smart enough to be the fox, yes, but the rest of it? Never. 

Alejandro looked around the room again. The bottles were labeled in Diego’s elegant hand. On the desk sat a book Diego had been reading. No one else’s tastes or habits were in evidence.  There were only two chairs, not enough for a hideout that hosted a conspiracy. 

Still. 

It couldn’t be Diego. Diego didn’t even carry a sword. He didn’t respect violence. His involvement in politics extended only as far as that newspaper. 

Alejandro sank into one of the stairs and lowered his head into his hands. The indifference to the daily dramas in the pueblo had been a lie, obviously. How large a lie? Large enough to hide Zorro himself?  

No. Not Diego. 

A soft gasp from the entrance brought Alejandro’s attention back to the dim, cool room around him. Diego’s younger shadow was standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at him, frozen in horror.  Alejandro stared back. “You know about this,” he said, after a moment. “Of course you know about this. Diego doesn’t go to the privy without you three steps behind him....”  An exaggeration, but not much of one. “Felipe, what’s going on here?” 

Felipe shuddered and drew a hand across his eyes: he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“But that is the answer, isn’t it. Diego can’t be Zorro. He would never involve you in something so dangerous. Never.” 

Felipe gave him a hard, inscrutable look and then turned and sank down into steps. His eyes were on the floor between his feet, neatly avoiding continuing the conversation. 

“I just don’t understand. Why didn’t he tell me? Did he think I would condemn him? For working with Zorro? I would have helped him!”

Felipe looked up and traced the figure “don’t understand,” in the air between them. In the years Diego had been gone, Alejandro had used that particular sign himself almost daily. I don’t understand. 

“No, by God, I don’t understand--” Alejandro closed his teeth sharply. There was absolutely no point in yelling at the boy, even if there were a point in blaming him. But Felipe would follow any plan of Diego’s, keep any secret, take any terrible risk...anything Diego asked, no matter how mad, and Alejandro couldn’t expect anything else. 

Felipe was saying something. The only words Alejandro recognized were “protect you.” The absurdity of that nearly made him laugh aloud. The idea of Diego protecting anyone was nearly funny. Nearly. Alejandro felt like his heart was in his throat. 

Felipe stood up and gently took his hand, tugging him in the direction of the steps. Alejandro allowed himself be led. They found Diego in the summer kitchen with Maria, sweeping up the last remains of broken pottery and discussing involved plans for expanding the herb garden. Felipe, coiled with tension, paused in the doorway, one hand locked around Alejandro’s wrist. 

Standing in the sunlight, listening to Diego talk about parsley and comfrey and garlic, the dim cave behind the fireplace seemed almost a dream. Then, suddenly, the last of the mess was cleared away and Diego was speaking reassuringly to Maria and sending her to right the back bedrooms. 

“Father? Felipe? Is something wrong? The house--”

Phlipe let go of Alejandro’s arm and signed, “He found it.” 

Frowning at Felipe’s distress, Diego asked gently, “Found what?” 

Felipe glanced miserably at Alejandro and answered, “Found you.” 

Diego showed no sign of alarm, just that same gentle, slightly bland concern. Unable to bear it any longer, Alejandro said, “I found the passage behind the fireplace.” 

Diego blinked once, still apparently unconcerned. “Was it damaged in the quake?”

“No, but it was opened,” he answered shortly. “I’ve been down to the...stable.” 

At this Diego’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I see.” 

Felipe’s hands flashed far too fast for Alejandro to follow, but whatever he said surprised Diego. “Father--you think I’m helping Zorro?”

“I’m not sure what to think.” 

“No...No, I’m sure it was quite a shock.” He winced slightly. “And now may not be the best time to talk about it. We haven’t finished inspecting the house for damage. And we should send someone to the pueblo to make sure they came through it as well as we have.” 

He was just so impossibly calm, almost casual about it. As though he weren’t a young man whose enormous folly had just come to the attention to his father. As though he had not been caught in the crime of abetting a wanted criminal. As though nothing worth noting was happening at all. Alejandro’s stomach twisted again. “No,” he whispered. “It cannot be true. You cannot be Zorro.” 

Diego looked both scandalized and amused. He was going to deny it, make some excuse, spin some story. It would be just like every other lie he’d being telling for years. It was too much. “Diego, don’t you dare.” 

His amusement and charm evaporating, Diego murmured, “Not here,” and gently took his father’s arm.  Alejandro managed to keep his temper as he was led back through the library and through the hidden door. 

Once again in the cave, surrounded with the detritus of Diego’s hobbies, Alejandro spun on his son. “Why? Merciful God, why, Diego?” 

“That’s what you want to know? _Why_? You know perfectly well ‘why,’ Father.” The man who answered seemed both taller and more serious then the son Alejandro knew. Thought he knew. “Luis Ramone was a tyrant and a sadist. He had two dozen lancers and the full authority of the Spanish Crown behind him, and he had no scruples about bankrupting, torturing, or murdering anyone who got in his way.” 

Alejandro shook his head weakly. “Diego, you don’t believe in violence.” 

That got him a brief nod. “No. I believe in justice, representation, and civil society. But I am not so attached to them that I would see you and Victoria martyred to their cause.” 

Alejandro swallowed hard. That had been Zorro’s first act, hadn’t it? The very same week Diego had returned from Spain, Zorro had broken the two most vocal community leaders out of the fort’s little jail. “It was...it was personal.” 

Diego sighed heavily. “It was pure desperation.  We had to defend ourselves against him, but anyone who tried--the reprisals were only going to get worse. The men in the plaza were talking about rebellion. Most of the soldiers weren’t local boys, they would have fired on the rebels, if it came to that. And the government....” he sighed again. “It was the only option left, for any of us.” 

Alejandro closed his eyes, “Those soldiers regularly fire on Zorro.” 

“A musket is a very effective weapon against a crowd of civilians or an oncoming army...” a soft laugh, “or a grazing deer. Less so against one man on a good mount. The accuracy--” 

“Are you listening to what you are saying?” Alejandro wasn’t sure what he was hearing himself. Wasn’t this Diego, who never carried a sword? Who rode only the most docile horses? “You are taking on an entire garrison alone. This can’t go on. I can’t let this go on--”

“Do you think to stop me?” 

“You can’t keep pretending to be Zorro!” 

That drew a surprised laugh. “I am Zorro. There is no one else.”  

And, oh, that was right, wasn’t it? This was his son--this confident man in this well furnished cave--Zorro, the outlaw, the myth, the defender of the downtrodden. The fragile, distracted dilatant that Alejandro had shared his home with for the last five years, that wasn’t a real person at all. Alejandro nodded to himself. “Diego is the pretense, of course. How blind I’ve been. I don’t know you...I don’t know my son at all.” 

Diego dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry for that,” he said softly. “I never intended to deceive you.” 

“An _accident_ then?” Diego opened his mouth to protest, and Alejandro waived him down. “No, don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. You’ve been fighting a war all alone and I’ve been no help to you.” 

The silence that followed that was almost unbearably raw. After a long moment Diego sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk. “Father....” 

“I’m not even sure how to apologize to you. Or what to apologize for.” 

“For? Father, you’ve been...beyond patient. The lengths I’ve gone to distract everyone--I’ve been an endless trial to you, I know.” He smiled slightly, that soft, self-depreciating smile that Diego showed so often. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

Was it the sustained astonishment that made him feel so tired? Or was it the growing weight of his shame? “While you’ve been fighting for--for justice and the rights of man, I’ve been--Diego, I’ve been...very critical.” 

Diego met his eyes levelly. “You were exactly what I needed you to be. A voice for the caballeros, a leader to keep them from doing anything rash...and at the same time the voice of reason, reminding the Alcalde not to go too far.  You’ve been perfect.” 

“Perfect? How many times have I nearly gotten you killed, goading de Soto into a rage, knowing that I could rely on Zorro if things got out of hand?” 

Diego nodded seriously. “And couldn’t you? For the most part, Zorro has been very effective. I’ve heard you say so, and I think...I think I’ve done well.” 

“Done well?” Alejandro gasped. “Done well doesn’t begin to describe--Diego, I hate to think where we’d be by now if it weren’t for Zorro! You’ve been--you’ve been our salvation.” 

For a moment, perhaps a second or two, Diego’s eyes softened and a smile nearly surfaced from beneath his serious mien.  Then the moment was gone and Diego was nodding reasonably. “Very well, then, Father.” 

“No, Diego, I-I cannot be so reasonable about this.  You refuse to allow someone else to be martyred to the cause of justice, but you expect me to just sit here and agree to let you--to let you be-- No. It isn’t so simple.”

“I’m hardly martyring myself. There is some risk, but not an unreasonable amount. Joining the army or bullfighting or sailing to Europe--any number of things would be more dangerous still.” 

“De Soto will hang you if he takes you. And praise God we aren’t still under Ramone! That man would have had you whipped and branded first.” 

Diego was still meeting his eyes, still unbearably reasonable, still more confident than Alejandro had ever seen his son. “Yes. De Soto will hang me if he takes me. But he cannot take me, and his soldiers--the ones that actually want to capture me--are convinced that it is impossible. They barely try, and count themselves lucky that I _don’t_ enjoy bloodshed.” 

Unable to bear that calm, resolute gaze any longer, Alejandro closed his eyes. His son. Dear God, his son. Every day this strength of purpose had lived beside him in his very household. How could he not have seen it? 

How could he bear it, if next week or next month, Zorro made a mistake and Diego was lost to him forever? 

“Father? Are you feeling ill? Felipe, get some water. Quickly. Father--” 

“No, I’m all right,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Really.” 

Felipe pushed a shallow terra cotta cup into Alejandro’s hands and guided it to his lips. The water was cool, but slightly musty. He gulped it anyway. 

“It’s a bit much to take in. I’m sorry, Father. I shouldn’t have pressed you.” 

A bit much to take in? Alejandro nearly laughed. “You weren’t up late last night reading, were you? You were riding around the territory in a mask--” 

Felipe nudged him to drink again and signed something mysterious to Diego. 

“Yes, perhaps so. A small dose.”

 

“What’s he doing?” Alejandro asked.

 “Getting you cactus tea. A small dose, for the shock. It will leave your wits intact, unlike brandy.” 

Diego did not drink. Even wine, he avoided. Because Zorro needed his wits intact. Dear God. Alejandro closed his eyes again. The world spun around him. 

“I’m so sorry, Father,” Diego whispered. “Please believe me, that I did not enjoy lying to you, disappointing you. If--If I had been caught, you could swear before God that you had no knowledge.” He glanced at the boy bent over the worktable, heating water over a small brazier. “If I could have hidden it from Felipe, I would have. Zorro is my own folly. I don’t want anyone else--” 

Felipe set a jar down hard enough to make the table rattle and turned around to glare briefly at Diego. Something passed between them, and the boy turned back to his work. 

Alejandro took a deep breath and wondered how many shocks he was prepared to absorb today. “Was he so careless because he feels safe here? Or is it always so obvious?” 

Diego sighed. “I’m sorry. You deserved--” 

Felipe stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  He apologized, slowly, so that Alejandro could follow. Then, more slowly still, “Don’t be angry. I was protecting him. I was useful to him. You understand.” The fluid hands conveyed a terror and desperation that Alejandro did understand perfectly. He had done it for Diego. 

Alejandro breathed in, wishing the world would stop spinning. “And now?” he gasped. “How do I thank you? There is no one else, is there? All this time, Diego has only had you....” The cool, dim cave suddenly seemed stifling and dark. Alejandro gasped, but there hardly seemed to be any air. 

“Father? Are you all right?” 

He was fine. It was just a shock. Surely, the world would spin for anyone.... 

Zorro. 

Diego. 

Sharp pain came with every breath and a darkness hovered at the edges of his vision. Alejandro panted, despite the pain, but there simple didn’t seem to be any air. Diego was looking very anxious, now. “Felipe,” he said sharply. “Quickly. Help me get him down.” 

He didn’t need any help, but he couldn’t fight their strong hands. He was lifted, settled. And then he was looking up at Diego from a very strange angle.  “Father. Try to relax. You will be just fine.” 

Diego. 

The world flooded with blackness. He could hear his son calling him, but he couldn’t remember how to answer. 

 

 **Nope.**

There was nothing extraordinary about Zorro interrupting a whipping. True, public whippings were much less common under de Soto then they had been under Ramone. And some were perfectly lawful: theft, public drunkenness, and so forth. Still. Every few months Zorro appeared and demanded an accounting for a sentence that was too harsh or based on too little evidence. 

De Soto might have remembered that, when he ordered the whippings for Pedro and Jose, but he was in a temper. And once ordering the punishment, he couldn’t rescind it without looking weak, so all that was left was to hope Zorro wouldn’t decide to appear. 

Alejandro was sure he would.  Zorro had a particular dislike of whippings and he took a special interest in the affairs of Jose Macias. 

De Soto didn’t administer his own punishments, so it was one of the lancers Zorro disarmed and tossed in the dust. Don Alejandro retreated to the porch of the tavern, pulling Felipe with him, to watch the excitement. The crowd cheered--except for a few who had been looking forward to the whipping.  De Soto fumed. Zorro tossed a handful of coins in the dirt at his feet: “Surely a payment of fine is adequate punishment for a minor offense.” 

Jose’s wife threw a bunch of flowers at Zorro. She must have had high hopes for the rescue, to bring them. Alejandro laughed. Zorro neatly snatched one of the flowers out of the air and tossed it toward the tavern where it landed at Victoria’s feet. 

There was more cheering. De Soto ordered the lancers to fire, but there in the midst of the crowd, they couldn’t get a shot. And then Toronado pranced and tossed his head and turned at a gallop toward the gate....and one of the lancers made a lucky shot. 

Toronado bucked and squealed as he lost his rider, but it was already too late. Zorro flew from the saddle. By the time he hit the ground the plaza had gone silent, so the sound of his neck breaking was clearly audible. Cold with horror, Alejandro leaped forward and seized Victoria. She wailed and pushed against him, but Alejandro turned her bodily away.  

“No. No, there’s nothing you can do--” His arms were full of Victoria when Felipe dashed past him, sprinted across the open ground, and threw himself on Zorro’s motionless body. He bent forward, the very image of wretched grief. Alejandro could only stare: like every boy in the pueblo, Felipe idolized Zorro. But...but he was weeping as though it were Diego lying dead on the ground, instead of the pueblo’s hero. 

 _No._  

The numbness took him from head to toe. Gasping, he teetered backward. Suddenly, it was Victoria keeping him upright as much as it was him keeping her back from the tragedy. 

In the stillness of the plaza, Sergeant Mendoza stepped forward, almost tentatively. As he approached the body, Felipe leapt to his feet and shoved him away. He was shouting. Desperate. Incoherent. Heartbroken. 

Alejandro slid to his knees. _Diego. No._ But his own tears were coming now. _Diego. My boy._

 

 **Also, nope...**

Alejandro was working a pebble out of Dulcinea’s hoof when Diego rode up on a huge, black stallion. “Impressive,” he said. “Where did you get him?” 

“I’ve had him for a while.” Diego watched his father’s face as he dismounted and unbridled the stallion. “He’s a...secret I no longer need to keep.” He whistled softly, and the horse bowed, dropping its head between its forelegs. He whistled again, and the horse came up, tossed its mane, and took three neat steps backward. 

It was the most splendid horse Alejandro had ever seen. It even put Emilio to shame. And, of course, there was only one horse in the territory that was so perfectly trained. Alejandro tried to swallow. His mouth was suddenly so dry that it took two tries to say, “You’ve had him for a while, then.” 

“Since the week I came back from Madrid.” Affectionately, he caressed the velvet nose. “Eight years, now. Dios. He’s not a colt anymore. I thought it was time to put him out to stud.” He was watching Alejandro out of the corner of his eye. 

“And, of course...there’s no danger...now that the warrants for Zorro’s arrest have been withdrawn.”

 Diego gave a small, wry smile. “I can’t say that didn’t effect my decision.” He began to unsaddle the great, black horse.  

“Nor the fact that Ignacio de Soto boarded a ship in San Pedro last night....” Alejandro muttered. 

“Should I have rubbed his nose in it? What would that have accomplished?” Toronado nudged at him, pushing at his shoulder. Diego produced a carrot from his pocket. 

Alejandro took a step closer, mindful of the fact that Toronado’s reputation for fierceness was well-earned. It wouldn’t do to spook or irritate him. “It would have incensed him....perhaps into something we would all later regret. On the other hand, you might have found it very satisfying. De Soto has made no secret of his low opinion of you.” He swallowed. “Of Diego.” 

That drew a chuckle. “Oh, believe me: he had a low opinion of Zorro as well.” 

Alejandro closed his eyes. He had a lump in his throat. “Well, Zorro...he was always a bit of a show-off, wasn’t he?” The lump was growing. He tried to swallow it. “But my son, Diego, he...he never demanded any credit for himself, or cared for his own comfort, his own pride...his own safety.” The lump was nearly choking him now. 

“And maybe...too little regard for the needs of...family?”

Alejandro shook his head, although it was a moment before he could speak. “You’ve saved my life. I’m not sure I can count the times, Diego. Oh--dear God. When Zorro was tossed into Perdito Canyon...It was the day he was leading Mendoza away from me--the day you were--” 

Diego turned to him quickly. He shook his head ruefully. “Oh, no. You can’t take the blame for that. Zorro was showing off. Honestly, Father. I alone was to blame.” 

“And you...fell...from your horse.” His eyes strayed to the stallion. “Toronado....” 

“I’m sorry, Father.” He spread his hands sadly. 

Diego had been bedridden for over a week. Although Zorro had, apparently, not. He had staged a spectacular rise from the dead....Still, the doctor had said the concussion had nearly killed him. Alejandro had been confused and impatient at the time. Diego? Falling from a _horse_? When he was such an excellent rider? 

But he had believed it, just as he had believed-- “How many of the times you were ‘sick’ were you concealing Zorro’s injuries? And how many times were you just concealing Zorro?” 

“It doesn’t matter--” 

“Palomarez. You were flushed and swaying on your feet. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought you were drunk. What did he _do_ to you? Diego? Did you lose that much blood?” 

“Poison,” Diego admitted. “But it...wasn’t serious.” 

Alejandro let his breath out slowly. “I can think of at least two occasions where Zorro was shot.” 

“Not so badly, really. Father, none of that matters now.” 

“Did you even see the doctor? For any of it?” Alejandro laughed rawly. “How ironic. Now-- _now_ when it’s safe--I want to lock you in your room.  Who would have thought it would fill me with so much fear to find out you weren’t a coward?” 

Diego actually blushed a little at that. 

“And now what?” Alejandro glanced at Toronado. “Do we dye his markings and find Zorro another horse? Or is all this... simply over?” 

“Now,” Diego said wistfully, “ _Now_ , I ride into the pueblo and...wait until someone is curious enough to challenge me, I suppose.  This afternoon, I think. It will be good to get it over with.” He ran a hand down Toronado’s shining neck. “By himself, he won’t be proof enough for most people.” 

Don Alejandro nodded. If he was going to reveal himself, this seemed a reasonable way to do it. “I think more than one person will want to test you, though. And Sergeant Mendoza....you  may have to buy him a full meal or even two before he’ll forgive you. Or get over his embarrassment enough to thank you. I think, if you want all that out of the way in time to court Victoria this evening, we should leave now.” 

“You make an excellent point. I’ll fetch Felipe.  He’s been waiting years for this.”

 

 

 **How it happened.**   


It would be absurd to chide _Victoria_ for being intemperate when he himself had been arrested for striking the garrison commandant in the jaw.  She had kept her temper well enough to avoid public brawling, at least. 

Still, she was wrong. “We can’t win this in an open fight, Victoria. Our farmers aren’t soldiers. And there are so many who cannot defend themselves at all--the women and children, the monks, the Indians at the mission. The fact that you are right...doesn’t mean that the best course isn’t to endure as best we can and seek a peaceful solution.” 

From the other cell, she eyed him sadly. “Do you really and truly think the women and children are safe now? I have counted a dozen people turned out of their houses....two dozen more imprisoned for--for _nothing_. Yes, you’re right, we may be killed if we fight back. But we surely will be, if we don’t.” 

Alejandro got up and paced restlessly, his arms folded and his shoulders hunched against the chilly air coming in the open window. “Try to think strategically. He cannot continue in this manner: the people are the wealth of the pueblo. If no one is working the land, caring for the cattle, tanning the hides...there will be no taxes to collect, and he can’t have that. He’s trying to frighten us, but--” 

“Yes, and he thinks if he can keep us frightened _enough_ , we will put up with anything.” It was a bit startling: she had never interrupted him before. But over the last few months, the polite, earnest young women he’d watched grow up had become both angry and daring.  It was a bit unsettling.  “He’ll leave us destitute, hungry, our children turned out in the streets, and we’ll allow it because he’s _frightened_ us!  Well, I’ve seen what happens when you ‘endure.’  One day you wake up and everything you love is _gone_. He sees you as a threat, Don Alejandro. Shall I wait until after he’s run you off or killed you before I fight him?” 

“Victoria! I’m the last person in the district who needs protecting!” 

She walked to the bars and peered at him earnestly. “Everyone needs protecting. And if we don’t stand up for each other....”  She frowned and glanced over her shoulder. 

“What is it?”

“I think I heard something....” 

 

Irritated, Alejandro growled, “Oh, what is he up to _now?_ At least let us get some sleep....” Then he heard a muffled thump. It didn’t sound like guards. 

The heavy wooden door swung open and Diego--dressed all in black and wearing a mask--stepped into the little jail. “Good evening,” he said politely. 

Completely shocked, Alejandro could only demand to know who he was supposed to _be_. He couldn’t imagine what mad, impossible plot had led to this. 

Victoria was more suspicious than shocked. “ _What_ are you?” she asked. 

Diego smiled. “A creature of the night, like a fox.” He bowed slightly and presented himself. “The Fox.” 

Alejandro felt his breath catch. It was brilliant. What possible action could the alcalde take against a masked bandit who insisted on releasing prisoners and causing havoc? Dear God, it was magnificent! Ramone would be incensed, and helpless to do anything about it but decry the rise of crime...and since bringing order was his own job....Alejandro nearly laughed aloud.  He wished he’d thought of it himself. 

Victoria was unconvinced. “The Fox,” She repeated skeptically. 

Diego gave her a careless half-smile. “Perhaps you’d like to leave?” 

Scarcely able to keep from laughing Alejandro asked, “How do we know you don’t work for the alcalde? Perhaps he wants to shoot us?”

Diego, bless him, didn’t see the question as funny at all. Unlocking the cells he promised, “He’ll have to shoot me first. If it’s freedom you want, follow me.” 

At the time it had only seemed a little odd that Diego made no appearance during the long journey home afoot. It was only when, back at the house, Diego feigned astonishment at seeing them that Alejandro realized the boy actually _believed_ he hadn’t been recognized.  Well, to be fair, he seemed to have fooled Victoria. But Alejandro had changed Diego’s diapers, set him on the back of his first horse, taught him to swim and rope and hold a sword. How could Diego actually believe he’d fooled his own father? 

He barely managed to keep his face straight while Diego looked sincerely unimpressed and voiced doubts about their masked rescuer.  He was very convincing.  If it had been anyone but his own son, Alejandro might have doubted his memory then, questioned what he’d seen. 

The performance was brilliant. The irony? Delicious. He made it to his own room before collapsing into a chair and laughing with helpless delight. 

 _End_


End file.
